Sea Green
by WMisc
Summary: She'd always loved the color green. Annabeth's story.
1. Green

_Annabeth's story - or basically, her point of view throughout the books, chronologically but not following the exact plot that Riordan had created._

* * *

**Green**

* * *

She'd always loved the color green.

Even before she could form complete sentences, even before she could wrap her abnormally sophisticated mind around the concept of colors, she'd loved it. She'd toddle up to any green, thriving plant and stare intently at the leaves, as if trying to absorb the chlorophyll and turn green herself.

When she matured in both years and knowledge, she'd understood that green was the color of _life_. But at four years of age, she'd managed to decide resolutely that the color of life wasn't the green she had liked all along. It was a different green, a darker, more _mysterious_ green. And although she wouldn't find the words to describe it until later, she'd known what she wanted.

So she'd set herself a task: find that green that lurked in her mind somewhere, waiting, unable to come out into the open. It drove her to observe everything clinically, logically; it drove her until it was almost an obsession.

It wasn't until years later that she succeeded in her quest.

* * *

Years passed.

She was seven when she ran away, a few months away from eight when she'd been found–and saved, to her mind.

She was still searching blindly for that exact shade of green, with nothing to guide her but a vague _tone_ of sorts. She knew that that wasn't the way she figured things out–she acted upon evidence given, observations, data–but she continued nonetheless.

But her obsession had transferred to something–some_one_–else soon after she had been found.

Luke.

It wasn't anything big yet–just the normal infatuation someone might have with an older sibling. _Not a crush,_ she repeated, trying to convince herself that it was true.

But infatuated she was, and for a while, green was replaced by blue.

* * *

She'd never expected that such a thing would happen.

Thalia was dead.

_Dead._

She'd been too afraid to look back at the horde of monsters coming to intercept them, too afraid to even see if the rest of their small group was alright.

Too afraid to see what she had known was coming.

She'd known from the second that Thalia had spent a precious second glancing back at the monsters charging after them, the Furies circling above like vultures waiting for the carnage to begin. She'd grabbed her hand and dragged her along–not far, for her seven year-old strength was no match for Thalia's twelve year old resistance–but she'd seen her looking back at the surging tides of hellhounds and fearful creatures of the Underworld.

She hadn't understood it when Thalia had gently pulled her hand free and looked back with an almost wistful look on her face.

She hadn't understood when Luke, behind them, had shouted something at her, a desperate glint in his eyes as Thalia resolutely stood, the familiar obstinacy clear on her face along with an unfamiliar pensiveness.

But too late after the battle, she'd understood.

She'd understood when night after night, she stirred in her sleep to watch as Luke slowly walked towards the shining, healthy pine tree that had appeared moments after the battle.

She'd understood as she watched him stare up at the dark green leaves–similar to the shade she'd been searching for all her life, yet not the same–face obscured by the shadows pressing all around him.

Luke wasn't for her. He never would be hers.

But she couldn't help hoping.

* * *

It was only a few weeks later when she got her first real shock, her first real thrill in her personal discovery.

She'd wandered away from the campfire after she'd eaten, only vaguely aware that her surroundings were moving–or rather, _she_ was moving. She'd ambled past the twelve cabins, struggling with a particularly difficult equation in her mind.

And then she'd heard the rushing of the sea.

The sound surprised her–it shouldn't have, but it did–the sudden tranquility washing over her as she got closer to the water. It was dark–too dark. She looked up, uncomprehending.

The stars shone dimly, the constellations she found effortlessly in the sky just barely shining. The moon was a mere sliver, weak rays barely even touching her skin.

She sighed at the lack of light. Where had the night gone?

She cast her eyes about for something–_anything_–that might hold her interest. She thought about the campfire she was missing out on, the bright, purple flames that were probably shooting up towards the sky by now.

But even for someone as young as her, she knew that things don't just happen for any reason. She knew that everything is planned out, everything was supposed to happen–as ordained by the Fates.

She shivered at the thought and tried to push out the fleeting memory of three old women, knitting together at the subway station. Underground. She'd looked around to see if anybody else had caught a glimpse of them, but when she glanced back at the stand, they were gone.

Even Grover didn't see them–or maybe the Fates had only allowed _her_ to see them.

That thought was even scarier than the idea that there were gods, immortals, the unknown deciding how her life would go. And _that_ was scary enough by itself.

She shuddered once more and made the sign Grover used whenever talking about something evil – or ancient. Claw over her heart, push outwards. As she did so, she emptied her mind of thoughts–a hard task, especially for a daughter of Athena who was always inquisitive and curious–and forced herself back to the present.

With a start she found herself standing directly in front of the sea, kneeling down as if to touch the water. She scrambled to her feet, now wary of her unconscious actions. She began to inch backwards, not daring to turn around, but not daring to move too far either.

She was suddenly aware of her mother's rivalry with the sea god. She felt a trickle of apprehension, but continued staring at the sea.

And then she saw it.

_Really_ saw it.

She squinted at the rushing water, crashing on the soft sand, withdrawing, and coming forward once more.

The _color_…

She fell to her knees quickly and leaned forward to inspect it better. The waves, as if willing to obey, rushed forward, not quite reaching her shoes. She was grateful for that later, but at the moment, she couldn't do much but to stare.

Green.

Sea-green.

She knew that the water wasn't actually green–but it was close enough. _This_ was the color she had been looking for. Somewhat.

Well, at least it was close.

A beam of light shone on her, and she looked up, startled. Sunrise.

She picked herself up, satisfied and yet _not_. She knew she had found it–but why was she feeling so frustrated? Surely it was over. She searched for that shade of green inside her mind and compared them.

No.

Her good mood left her, and she sighed in disappointment. The sea was just a shade darker.

She knew what she was looking for now, though.

Reminded now of her old fascination, she welcomed and embraced it eagerly.

Blue, green: match point.

* * *

Five years went by; blue upped green little by little until there was nearly nothing left of it.

Nearly.

Each day, she still visited the sea for as little as one minute or as much as an hour. She made her way there swiftly and sat in the shadows provided, half-afraid of what would happen if her mother saw her, half-ashamed of her own daring. But she didn't stop.

It was during one of these times that brought her both extreme joy and extreme foreboding.

It was the usual time–around five in the afternoon–when she sat down on the sand, squinting out at the sea. _Green_, she thought as she always did. _Green, but not quite._

She closed her eyes and listened to the waves, to the birds, to the air. She focused all her concentration on listening, just listening, for something… a sign.

A sign.

_A sign for what? _she wondered. _A sign that she could take as approval to enter the mortal world once more?_

She remembered asking Chiron that exact question–he'd answered with cryptic remarks until he had finally snapped–of sorts.

_Your chance will come, Annabeth, with the arrival of a child of the–someone special._

A child of the Big Three. That was what Chiron had been about to say, she was sure of it.

But then again, her chance might never come, due to the pact made by the three brothers–hence 'the Big Three' after World War II.

But if they were going by how often the gods' broke their promises, then perhaps it would come soon enough.

She quickly offered a silent apology in her mind to the gods, expecting that any minute the waves would engulf her, or lightning would strike her, or even that the ground might swallow her up from below.

Nothing happened.

She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She could've sworn she could have heard thunder.

Thunder.

There it was again, in the distance–thunder rolling. From outside the camp's borders, no doubt, but still…

She listened harder, squeezing her eyelids together, sitting up.

There it was. A scream.

No, not a scream. A shout.

Why did the voice sound already so familiar to her when she was sure she'd never heard it before?

"Hey, stupid! Ground beef!"

She winced–an automatic response–and, springing to her feet, raced for the Big House. "Chiron!" she half-screamed, half-yelled. She didn't know which. "Chiron! Someone's here!"

_Here_ was a rather mild verb, but it served the intended purpose. She heard the frantic sound of hooves, and then the centaur stormed out the door, bow in hand.

She blinked at his hastiness, but shook her head to clear the random thoughts flowing in. "I heard someone shout… something," she finished lamely, but nevertheless, she pointed over at the all-too-familiar hilltop, then with a start, realized that it was empty of any humans or monsters. "What-"

And then she heard a thud.

She looked down.

It was a boy, around her own age, collapsed at her feet. She stared speechlessly at him, feeling an alien emotion well up in her at the sight. Pity?

No, it was happy, and yet sad, at the same time.

Sympathy?

She quickly lost her train of thought in her interest. He was pale, strands of black hair covering his eyes. His clothes were muddied and dirtied, slightly ripped in some places. He was skinny, clearly not a son of Ares. A slightly… serene, unreadable air hung about him. She frowned. Where had she felt that before?

A slight breeze whipped up, and the hair was blown out of his face, leaving it almost peaceful, yet anguished.

She almost leaned over to look at his intriguing expression more clearly, but reconsidered. She'd never taken such an interest in another camper before. Maybe Luke, but she'd known Luke before they'd arrived at the camp. This was different.

_He_ was different.

The corners of her lips turned up slightly, unknown to her, at the thought.

And then, all of a sudden…

He opened his eyes.

She had to bite her lip, hard, to stop herself from crying out in surprise. Flinching at her own pain, she licked her lips. A bead of blood gathered on the surface of her tongue.

Green.

Sea-green.

_Her_ green.

"He's the one," she found herself saying, dazed with her discovery. An unbidden confidence had risen in her voice, leaving her with a variety of mixed emotions–a large part of which was confusion in her own actions. "He must be."

She could see Chiron glancing at her apprehensively out of the corners of her eyes, but not full on, because her eyes were fixed on the unknown boy's face. She visualized that wonderful, vibrant green once more, and her conviction strengthened.

"Silence, Annabeth." The centaur sighed inaudibly at the sight of the boy–not one of a burden, but one of relief. Her sharp ears picked up on this in interest. His lips moved, forming a few words in Ancient Greek without a sound, then aloud, he added, "He's still conscious. Bring him inside."

She wasn't dissuaded by Chiron's lack of response, nor his immediate orders. On the contrary–his hesitation only confirmed her suspicions.

Green: infinity. Blue: nothing.

* * *

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own, nor will I ever.

_Inspired by _dnrl'_s _Bittersweet Symphony_. An overdone story: Annabeth's point of view throughout the series. Up next: Unbidden._


	2. Unbidden

_Annabeth's story. Is there anything else to say?_

* * *

**Unbidden**

* * *

He lay there, just inches away from her, sleeping. Not peacefully, but not fitfully either–somewhere in between. A trace of confusion was clear in the creases in his forehead–maybe a small thing, but when they smoothed out and was replaced by a faint smile, he looked so serene… so innocent.

Innocent of what possible future lay before him.

She sighed, feeling the familiar pang of sympathy for this unknown demigod. Real sympathy, not that unsure, uncertain emotion that was close enough to it. Yet another trapped in ancient mythology.

She wasn't sure whether to rejoice or mourn for him.

So she sat there, only a little space between the chair she was perched on warily and the bed he was residing in. She watched him breathe evenly, no sign of the injuries he had had before. Of course that was Chiron's master healing.

Or perhaps it was the nectar and ambrosia.

She eyed him carefully, listening with a well-practiced ear–her listening had really improved upon her daily visits to the sea–to the rise and fall of his chest.

The serene atmosphere that accompanied his presence was still hanging there, of course. Under it's influence, she felt her muscles loosening, her anxieties and confusions lessening. It reminded her of something… and yet she couldn't place it.

She didn't like feeling so… helpless.

No, that wasn't the word.

Oblivious?

There it was again–that feeling from before. That feeling of knowing something, yet not being able to place it exactly in words.

Children of Athena were _not_ accustomed to feeling so unaware. Especially not her.

She sighed and gave up on her search, merely contenting herself with studying his face.

Contenting?

She was momentarily distracted by the word her own mind had supplied her with. Contented?

But, as always, she perplexed herself. She soon yielded reluctantly, frustrated by her ignorance. To be bamboozled by one's self. Pathetic.

A slight sound drew her out of her thoughts. A ragged breath.

She glanced at the door, then at the bed, then back again, hesitating, chewing her bottom lip as she deliberated.

A cough. Then a rough intake of breath, the scraping of air against the inside of his throat almost unbearable to listen to. As if it were mocking him, the bowl of golden ambrosia sat innocently beside him. As she watched a faint ray of light from a nearby window peeked through and crept along the varnished wood, laying at rest directly in the center of the bowl.

She sighed at the sign, but got up anyways. One did not ignore such a coincidental action of the higher beings without a solid reason besides apprehension.

And certainly, she was feeling apprehensive as she stepped closer to the prone figure. Although his green, green eyes weren't visible to her, she couldn't help the shiver that ran up her spine when her attention focused on him.

Not a shiver of fear, however. It was a shiver of…

Excitement? Anxiety?

Something in between the two, at least.

The sudden burst of renewed vigor from the ray of light blinded her, and she remembered her purpose. Embracing eagerly the excuse to tear her eyes away from him, she took the cool bowl in her shaking hands and let the fragrance issuing from its contents soothe her for a moment. It smelled faintly of the sea and of a bittersweet aroma that brought tears to her eyes when she hesitantly breathed it in.

It was an odd combination of scents, but as she brushed the beads of water rolling down her face away, embarrassed at the unexpected wave of emotion that had overcome her at the unknown perfume, she found herself completely mesmerized by it. She _had_ to smell it once more…

It wasn't a want anymore – it was suddenly a _need_.

A wave of panic washed over her, and she dropped the bowl hastily, hands shaking, mind shaken with the force of her desire. For a second, the feeling lingered, drawing her inexorably towards the all-too-tempting idea of letting the scent overwhelm her senses, letting it scour her mind of all thought…

Then the feeling disappeared, but the trembling stayed.

The rattling of the smooth porcelain drew her attention. She stared down at the floor where the object lay innocently with something similar to dread. Her common sense asked her what there was to be afraid of, but she didn't listen to logic. Her hands shook–whether in leftover shock or from fear, she didn't know.

The fact that an inanimate object could have such _power_ her alarmed her. For a while, she just stood there, listening to the frantic beating of her heart, waiting for it to slow down to a comfortable pace.

It didn't take long. After being attacked by a horde of monsters belonging in the ancient myths (or not so–she didn't know what to believe as truth anymore), it didn't overwhelm her like it had that first time.

She released a breath she didn't know she had been holding and knelt down carefully to pick up the unmarred bowl. Luckily, the ambrosia hadn't fallen out, although it _did_ look more like pudding.

Vanilla pudding. Sure looked like it.

She shook her head at the muddled state of her mind and shakily focused on handling the spoon she had just noticed was in her left hand. Had she picked it up while unfocused?

No matter. All that mattered was that she had gotten the spoon without difficulty.

She scooped up some of the tempting pudding-like thing in the metal utensil–not too much, for too much at one time might result in some form of spontaneous combustion, yet not too little either–and brought it close to the boy's face. She wondered vaguely if the aroma itself could bring him around… she didn't doubt it.

Well, that didn't matter. She stuck the spoon in his face and let it slide into his mouth.

The boy jerked noticeably and choked slightly. She started in alarm and reprimanded herself for not doing what had been needed to be done beforehand. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she helped the unconscious boy sit up.

The obstruction in his breathing cleared away, and she breathed out.

She noticed the ambrosia leaking out of the corner of his mouth. A corner of her mouth curved upwards in a slight smirk, and wielding her spoon once more, she scooped up the excess dribbling out and stuffed it in his mouth once more.

The cold metal spoon had tapped against his cheek as she did so, and most likely, it was that feeling that startled him awake. His eyes opened slowly, so slowly.

She was startled as well, but concealed it behind a bigger smirk. She scraped up more pudding hanging tentatively off his chin and put it back in his mouth.

She hoped fervently that it stayed there for once.

His eyes opened fully, and they stared at her in open confusion. To distract him from the injuries she was sure that he was facing, she asked, "'What will happen at the summer solstice?"

It took him a while to be able to respond. "What?" he forced out, wincing.

It occurred to her suddenly that she shouldn't be informing him through her question. She realized that she had expected him to know the answer to her question. Frustrated with herself, and half-apprehensive that someone would come in and hear her, she looked around and asked desperately, "What's going on? What was stolen?" Out of pure irritation, she punched her leg. It hurt. Cringing at the bruise she most likely gave herself, she added in a slightly raised voice, "We've only got a few weeks!"

That gave her away. She could hear hooves coming down the hall to the bedroom.

The boy was oblivious. He was mumbling something that she couldn't quite make out, but still. She inserted her ready spoon into his mouth, and he fell asleep immediately from exhaustion.

Chiron appeared in the doorway moments after. "Did I hear you talking earlier? Did he wake?"

She frowned convincingly. "No, he did not wake. Why would I talk to an unconscious person?"

The centaur grimaced at her logic. "Good point… Ah, I have an archery class. Annabeth, I'll see you there."

With that, he trotted off.

She sighed. So much trouble for one boy.

She hated lying to Chiron. He was like a father to her.

But it was necessary.

Green eyes haunted her vision, and even with her back to him, she could sense that his breathing was steady. She rubbed her eyes, and fell back on her uncomfortable chair.

Well, if it was necessary.

* * *

She leaned against the rail beside Chiron and the indifferent god, watching their game absently, more concentrating on the boy's footsteps toward the table.

They came at a steady pace, and somehow, those footsteps seemed to drown out the sounds of laughter and chaos reigning in the camp.

She was tempted to join them… and yet was compelled to stay. Her own feet wouldn't obey her anymore.

Irritated, she stood there, seemingly ignoring the people around her… and yet she was paying attention.

She heard Grover whisper something to him, most likely introductions. And then a desperately glad, shocked outburst.

"Mr. Brunner!"

Mr. D burst in with his usual subtlety, and their conversation ended with the boy sliding slightly away from the camp counselor. She noticed a small smirk on the god's face, soon to disappear. She wondered at that, then dismissed it for the time being.

She was called over by Chiron, and she duly did so. She felt his curious gaze, and restrained herself from letting her eyes do the same to him. She'd certainly stared at him long enough while he was unconscious.

She was assigned a task immediately, and she accepted it without a murmur. She could feel prickles of uneasiness running down her spine, and anxious to get out of the company of both the all-too-observant centaur and the newcomer, she hastened to escape.

Her eyes were caught by the whiteness of what the boy was holding, however. She stopped and glanced at it.

The Minotaur.

She remembered briefly the words he had shouted, the terrible certainty she had felt… of a death.

And here was proof that not only had this demigod, this one she knew would be special, survived an encounter, he had also sent it away for a short period.

Mr. D drummed his fingers impatiently on the table, waiting to play his game, and started shuffling the cards. She glanced up at the boy's face, aware that she must have been silent for a short time.

She felt suddenly embarrassed. In an effort to make him feel the same and provide an opportunity to leave at the same time, she said the first thing that popped into her mind.

Later, while watching him resist Ares' way of welcoming him with surprisingly good results, she would regret her words with a red flush in her cheeks, but at the time, she just didn't care.

Curse him for awakening unbidden acts and words in her mind. Curse him.

* * *

She sat in the lunch pavilion, too lost in her thoughts to participate in that day's particular topic. She nodded absently to some rather passionate remarks, but other than that, kept her eyes trained on the Hermes table.

There were about twenty people there, crammed into one table. She saw half of them laughing and shoving each other, trying to push them off the seats.

All in good fun, she supposed.

She got up at the usual time with her plate and moved to the fire in the center of the area. A warm roll dangled from her fingers, and she hesitated.

Then she loosened her fingers, and it dropped.

_Athena, help me._

She breathed in, then checked herself, remembering the effects of the ambrosia earlier. She flushed and hurried to her seat, feeling unsatisfied.

For the rest of the meal, she ate without noticing what she was eating, and watched.

Her mind was fogged when it came to the boy. She watched him laugh, listen, and talk, and marveled at the easiness at which he was accepted into the discussion.

And then her eyes, naturally, shifted over to someone else. Sandy hair and a pale, jagged scar caught her eye, and the face that had become so familiar to her (when had that happened?) turned toward her.

She blushed, her face red, and turned away hastily.

But not before she caught a wink from those mischievous blue eyes, and mouthed words: _"Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Annabeth."_

She would lie in bed thinking of those words, blushing in the darkness, wondering what he had meant hours later.

* * *

She watched him and helped him the next few days, looking on as he both failed and excelled at various activities.

Ancient Greek was something _she_ was good at, and consequently, Chiron appointed her to teach the boy the language. He struggled through it, as was expected, but it didn't seem to be overly hard for him either. She reported his progress to Chiron, and wondered at the centaur's secrecy about the boy.

She continuously marveled at the ease with which he merged with the demigod community. He rotated through activities in search of something he could do well, but each time, he mostly failed.

Except for one time.

She saw with surprise, on the second day the boy head for the canoeing station. She noticed with even more shock that he managed to maneuver the canoe perfectly in the water, seeming to know what currents to take and what motions to make.

An idea flickered in her brain, but as she tried to grasp it mentally, it died.

She watched him without seeing from then on, thinking about what she had missed out on.

Once on solid land once more, he failed all the rest of the activities.

* * *

Three days later, she heard about yet another incident that marked him out from the rest of the campers.

Luke raved about it to her, of course. He'd interrupted her in the middle of one of her daily visits to the sea, but she didn't mind much. Of course, anything Luke asked her to do probably would've met with favorable response from her.

"You should've _seen_ him, Annabeth!" he rambled to her, pacing back and forth on the stretch of sand. She watched him, shading her eyes from the bright sun. Wryly, she noticed that the path Luke was currently making was fairly deep already. "I was just showing the campers some moves–you know, the usual thrusts and parries…"

She nodded at him to continue and considered shifting to a more comfortable position. As she struggled to move her legs out of the somewhat cramped crevice she was sitting in, he began again.

"He wasn't doing that badly, to be honest. At least, not for the average newcomer. He was blocking a couple, but for the rest… Well, I'm pretty sure he'll have a few bruises." He flashed a quick smile at her, and she unintentionally caught her breath. Ah, the power of love… or was it love? After a brief contemplation, he added, "The swords he was trying out really weren't that good for him. None were quite right, but…"

Luke started to look a little bewildered. She sat up a little straighter, interest peaked slightly.

"Yes?"

He shook his head–not in refusal, but in confusion. "I began showing them a disarming maneuver – pretty difficult, not anything that someone of his experience should've known. I volunteered Percy to be my partner in demonstrating it… and it was as if he had gotten stronger, more confident in the short break between our sessions. He seemed more focused, more familiar with his sword than before…

"And then he suddenly pulled it off. It was remarkable–he'd done it with precision that was unexpected."

He finally stopped pacing and stared at the sea broodingly. There were conflicting emotions in his face, and she got the feeling his thoughts were bordering on something dark. Hurriedly, she asked, "Did he do anything before?"

Luke looked at her musingly, recalling. "Yes… During our break, he'd seemed pretty winded. He poured water on his head…" His eyes widened as something occurred to him. "He was better after that, I'd say…"

She sensed they both had the same idea. Sharing a look, she jumped up from her spot and brushed the sand off her legs. "I'll see you later, Luke."

His expression was now a calculating one. Absently, he said, "See you later, Annabeth."

She sprinted off, determined. Not sure of which she was determined about, but determined she was.

Maybe there was something else about his green, green eyes.

* * *

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own, nor will I ever.

_An attempt at keeping the same pace and rhythm as the first chapter. Up next: Foreboding._


	3. Foreboding

___Annabeth's story._

* * *

**Foreboding**

* * *

Shock. That and foreboding were the only emotions she seemed to feel.

Time had slowed down. A few moments before, she had been darting madly through the trees, anxious to reach the river to stop the boy's would-be assailants. She watched as he straightened with unexpected speed and defended himself against a portion of the Ares' cabin. She saw them, unconscious, lying in the riverbed.

She couldn't help it. She had to say something. "Not bad, hero." The words tumbled out of her mouth, and she realized it was the first compliment she had given him–out loud, at least.

The boy looked startled. He spun around, looking wildly. She was about to scoff at his stupidity when she remembered that her invisibility cap was still on.

She took it off and braced herself for a shock.

She just didn't know it at the time.

Shock. That, and foreboding.

The wound on his arm–a sword cut. As she watched with incredulity, it seemed to shrink, turn into a scar, and fade.

Measuring his expression, it didn't seem like he was doing it on purpose. She shivered with understanding.

He was standing in water, a clear look of puzzlement on his face. The various cuts on his body inflicted by Clarisse's thugs were disappearing even as she considered them. Her broken electric spear lying on the ground.

"Step out of the water, Percy," she said abruptly, knowing somehow what was going to happen.

He immediately sagged, as if he'd lost all his strength, the moment his feet hit dry land. She cursed. "This is _not_ good. I didn't want… I assumed it would be Zeus…"

She was talking more or less to herself now. A howl somewhere in the woods alerted her.

She drew her sword, and immediately, something appeared on the rocks near them.

A hellhound.

She heard someone yell, "Percy, run!"

Her own voice.

It was over before she could do much to help.

Arrows sprouted from the hound's neck, and she turned to the boy, relieved. He was cut badly, but it wouldn't be that way for long.

After some spirited talk, and some revelations, she got him to step in the water. Chiron glanced quickly at her when the cuts started closing and healing themselves, then back at the boy.

She looked as well and with a start, realized her assumptions were correct.

A faint picture of a trident shone above his head.

Foreboding.

His green eyes were shocked, surprised, and everything that had to do with bewilderment. She could've laughed at his expression–but she didn't.

She knelt along with everyone else, her mind muddled. As mysterious to her as the sea, perhaps?

Sea green.

_That confusion should be confusing, and confusing is not only confusion._

* * *

Happiness. Happiness and that familiar foreboding.

She was happy because she was finally out in the real world. Out of camp, out on her own adventure… out to see if she was worthy of the title _hero_.

Happy because she was out of the close scrutiny of the other campers.

How liberating it felt to be able to make your own decisions and act upon them at will.

This thought caused a smile to form on her face.

That smile somehow stayed on her face throughout the many attacks by monsters–it was there while she faced down the three Furies, while evading the fate of becoming statuary in Medusa's lair, while Percy repeatedly demonstrated his talent for ticking off the gods. It was there through the entire adventure… even in danger of death.

_Especially_ then.

She termed her different smiles by color: yellow was a happy smile, blue was a sad smile, red was an angry smile, and purple was a terrified smile.

And green…

She wondered if the boy–no, _Percy_–or Grover noticed that grin that refused to fade entirely on her face. If they did, they probably thought she was crazy… unless they did before already.

Not that facing down death–or death's dog, Cerberus–was a smiling experience. But it was her way to maintain hope, her way of not giving in.

Since she was alive at the end of it all (and it all being retrieving the lightning bolt successfully), she guessed that her smile worked pretty well.

Green…

Sea green.

A hopeful smile.

_And hope lay at the bottom of Pandora's box._

* * *

Luke.

Luke.

Luke.

Blue.

How could he have done this?

Luke, her almost-brother, her best friend… her secret crush.

How could he have done this?

Foreboding.

She leaned against Thalia's tree, a few tears leaking out of her eyes despite her determination not to show emotion. She wondered what Thalia would think of all this.

She was reluctant to admit it… but if Thalia was there, instead of herself, Luke wouldn't have turned traitor and left. She could see the bond between the two, but she'd blinded herself with love of all kinds.

Ah, blindness. What a curse… and gift.

She managed a smile at that, albeit a watery one. But it was erased quickly by another glance at the dying tree. Thalia's spirit.

Luke's love for Thalia was… obvious, now that she thought it over. If only her damn feelings didn't get in the way, and she could hate him in peace.

But she couldn't. She just couldn't.

She looked back and realized that she never could. Ah, Luke.

A stray droplet slid down her face, and she wept silently.

_Hindsight is twenty-twenty vision._

* * *

Fear and curiosity. And of course, that omnipresent foreboding.

She'd heard that shout of his, calling for help. She'd just about fallen out of her bed in shock when she heard his voice, as clear as if he had been right by her, desperation obvious. After getting over her initial shock, she'd shaken her head, smoothed down the creases in her clothes from sleeping, and ran out the door.

Her relief was staggering when she reached the shoreline, stumbling and panting from the exertion, and saw Percy standing there, unharmed and hassled, with his eyes fixed on the sea.

She wondered now if she was the victim of a prank of his. _It'd be just like him,_ she thought angrily, but her temper cooled down. _Although he wouldn't risk waking up the whole camp for this… would he?_

But he began to talk about what the messenger god had told him, and a cold, logical sense trickled into her mind. "Percy," she said at the end, her sharp ears picking up on distant cries of the patrol harpies. "We have to do the quest."

And thus started an argument, in which she ultimately lost. She almost ground her teeth at his stubbornness, but she accepted it–partly because she knew he wouldn't change his pig-headed mind, and partly because the patrol harpies were getting closer to finding and ultimately eating them.

That was one fate she would like to avoid.

And so, moments later, she found herself riding a hippocampus like she would a jet ski, thinking over her companions as they headed for the innocent-looking ship.

She had protested vehemently against Tyson's presence there, but really, she didn't hate him _personally_. And the reason she gave Percy for his not being there wasn't all there was to it, either.

Funny that she should hate _because_ of Luke, and not hate Luke himself. Hilarious.

Later, she lay back in bed, a different bed, for the second time that night, holding the invisibility cap loosely in her grip as she thought.

It was really unfortunate that she just couldn't bring herself to hate him. Because her mind was bent on remembering the traitorous happy memories of Luke and her… long time ago.

It was really too bad that she could only think of _him_, and his sea-green eyes, in the worst of ways.

Foreboding. How odd that she should be afraid of the future that was yet to come.

_Fear can bring the worst of one to mind._

* * *

Ah, foreboding. An old friend… and an older enemy.

She stared at him. Luke. Standing but inches away from her, his mouth smiling crookedly but his blue, blue eyes _not_. Amongst the three of them, she suspected that he would be an open book to her.

And he was. She could see the hesitation in his face, the surprise, the pain… and a chilly emotion she couldn't put a place to. Not on him. Not on he, who she had loved for so long, who she had envisioned loving _her._

To her dismay… it made him look evil.

She shook her head, and finally, his impassioned confession to poisoning the tree–_Thalia's tree_–shook her out of her stupor.

Impassionate! When she had so clearly seen the tenderness in his face when looking at Thalia, and not her… if he thought he could fool her… then he had truly changed.

She clung to the unsaid chance that he hadn't changed. It was all she could hold on to.

Yes, she yelled at him, anger filling her with unruly thoughts. She shouted and felt like screaming, weeping… but not in front of _him._ No, his eyes–sea-green as they were–would not bear witness to her anguish if she could help it. And she could.

…But she could not help her fury, nor hold back her pride.

"I know you, Annabeth…"

Lies. What a liar, how had she not seen it? _I know you._ If he had truly known her, then he would've never become a _traitor._ The only word that could describe him. Traitor.

She wanted to say it, too. Yes, because _she_ knew _him._ She _knew_ that that word would hurt him, would cause him pain like he hadn't felt for her, or for Thalia. Oh, she wanted to say it…

But her lips wouldn't move. They wouldn't, after Luke had attacked her with the memories she had locked up.

So she was reduced to childish screams.

"Stop it!" she screamed.

Shouts were erupting around her. To her surprise, Percy's voice was among them, protecting her, saving her…

…And she found herself running down a corridor, and then almost immediately after, in a florescent orange lifeboat.

Time was passing. All around her, sea-green water shimmered in silence.

Later, she pretended to sleep on a hammock, swinging to and fro to the motion of the ship.

But she opened her eyes. Percy was sleeping, some few feet between them.

She quietly got to her feet and walked to him. A sense of déjà vu overcame her, and she smiled a little.

"Thank you," she whispered simply.

_Appreciation comes in many shades._

* * *

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own, nor will I ever.

_Focusing on various sayings, some original and others used from various sources. Up next: Circles._


	4. Circles

_Annabeth's story._

* * *

**Circles**

* * *

It was a time where she was feeling completely opposite of what she should've been feeling.

It marked the end of things as she knew them, hard cold facts that she thought she knew for sure, and the beginning of uncertainty. And she didn't like it.

She was a daughter of _Athena_, after all. Called _Wise Girl_ by her friends. Knowing things was practically supposed to be her _job_. So when she didn't know what was coming up… well, she was more than a little ticked off.

Gods, she had to lay off the mental italicizing.

She rubbed her eyes wearily and glanced–it was an involuntary glance, a glance that she took out of habit – over at him. Percy was sitting perilously close to the leaping and dancing flames of the campfire, back turned to her as he laughed. Silena Beauregard sat on his other side, laughing along as someone she couldn't see finished his joke.

She suddenly felt a stab of an unknown emotion. Longing? Admiration? But no, she knew what both of those felt like. This emotion, this _feeling_… it was more like–

Her eye caught a flash of green, and she saw Percy, half-turned as he looked at her, a strange expression on his face. When he saw her watching him watch her, he flushed red and spun around again.

She shook her head, confused but still smiling from the absurdity of the situation. It was funny, really, how she couldn't seem to figure out anything anymore. Funny and annoying.

Her life so far proved to be a circle. Just a simple circle, with no beginning and no end. Or limitless beginnings and endings.

The latter was more evident of the moment. Just when she had gotten things straightened out between her and– well, his name wasn't important. But her thoughts, her ideas had gotten mixed up the second she had gotten them organized. And that was the problem.

Getting the Fleece… Gods. She hadn't expected any of it to happen. So much to consider, so much to rethink. Luke's betrayal, Percy's protection… her life. It was all different, yet somehow remarkably similar.

But at least it was here, and the camp was safe. She glanced in the direction of Thalia's tree. She couldn't see it here, from Clarisse's victory campfire, but she knew it was there, working its magic. She just wished that she could feel the appropriate happiness, be suitably excited for the camp's new defenses. Not this horrible, dead emptiness inside when she thought of it. It was as if she expected something to happen, as if her subconscious knew something that she didn't–

Oh. Green for jealousy. Jealousy. Envy.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Percy looking at her again, but she didn't acknowledge it. His continued gaze was a little worrying, but she realized that it wasn't a calculating stare. It was more of a… curious, confused glance. Nothing more than what she was feeling.

Silena tried to capture Percy's attention again, and a pang of unconscious jealousy hit her. Yes, jealousy. It was an emotion she usually associated with objects, not people. But excessive fluttering of the eyelashes and tossing of the hair caused an irrational envy to swell up in her, and she looked at Silena with a bewildering–to her–contempt.

Gods. Gods. Gods. What was wrong with her?

She stood up and suddenly noticed that she was surrounded by cheering campers. She made to leave, but his voice stopped her. She turned. "Where are you going, Wise Girl?"

She noted vaguely his _curious, confused_ tone and replied, "Somewhere."

But of course, that seaweed brain wouldn't take that as an answer. And of course, seconds later, she found herself sitting next to him, legs uncomfortably and comfortably close to his, squeezed in between him and the daughter of Aphrodite. She didn't relax, but she bore her spot with something resembling tolerance.

It wasn't until later, however, that she found out that Silena had actually been directing all of her feminine powers towards Charles Beckendorf, and that Beckendorf was actually receiving them with quiet glee.

And of course, the improvement in her behavior towards the other girl had no relation whatsoever to _that_.

Huh. Jealousy.

Green.

_It's funny,_ she thinks, _how jealousy is green. How fitting._

She lay in bed that night, wondering about circles and their lack of beginnings and ends. Or, as said before, limitless ones.

She had the sneaking suspicion that the circles that made up her life had just started around once more, with this new discovery of envy.

Her eyes closed to the green tint of the world around her. She slept.

* * *

It was a time where she thought that there should be some hidden background music playing throughout all the moments in her life. Like this one.

She pondered over what genre would be appropriate for how she was feeling. Happy? Sad?

No, none of those fit. It was more of an… ominous track. The one where whenever it plays, the audience just _knows_ that something's going to pop out from behind a curtain, a wall, and scare the false bravado you had put on just moments before out of you. The one where although you _know_ something's going to happen, you can't help but be shocked when it actually does.

Yes, it was ominous. She didn't like it.

Maybe it was their presence in this overly made-up hall, with its overly made-up students. After all, the color scheme didn't help much. Black and red weren't exactly bright and happy colors, anyways.

But it was all okay. She didn't notice the balloons and streamers lining the walls, she didn't notice the punch bowl near her. Because this was all for those two demigods sitting on the bleachers, for the camp. Right?

_Yes, and taking your time, dancing with Percy is completely for the camp's sake,_ a thought whispered to her in her head.

She shooed the thought away hastily, reasoning to herself that yes, she _was_ dancing with him purely out of deception. Just to fit in with the other dancing students.

At the mention of the mortals, oblivious, around her on the dance floor, she glanced at them. Many of them were happy faces, looking at their own dance partners with awe and–dare she say it–love.

How _cliché._

But as cheesy and utterly overrated as it all was, she wished that she wasn't a daughter of Athena, and that she could be dancing without a worry in the world with–

Well, with whom, actually?

The cases of _who _and _whom_ had always meant something to her. The subjective and the objective, respectively. In this case, she put a certain son of Poseidon as the subject and one son of Hermes as the object.

After all, she was thinking (and dancing) with Percy right then – therefore the subject. And there was more than one definition of objective.

_Objective – __Something that one's efforts or actions are intended to attain or accomplish._

Or, in all intents and purposes, a goal.

And Luke–okay, _rescuing_ Luke–had always been her goal.

She winced as a foot stepped on her toes, but concealed it almost immediately. She knew that he was nervous. She'd never imagined Percy dancing _ever_ with her–gods, with her? She'd never thought of him that way _before_–and now that it was happening, she found it almost enjoyable.

Of course, except for the fact that they weren't here to dance around, or to discover new feelings for him–_if they were even there._ They were here to recruit the di Angelo kids, two half-bloods who had supposedly strong powers, and were sitting right over–

She looked over, and froze. "They're gone."

Oh, gods. This was bad. Her gaze passed over the room, looking for one Dr. Thorn. He was nowhere in sight.

Her eyes made another round about the room, this time looking for Thalia and Grover. They, also, were nowhere in sight.

_Gods._

She ran away from him then, shouting desperately for her two other half-blood friends, and suppressing the sixth sense that _knew_ that he wasn't following her.

A shiver prickled up her spine as she sprinted around, reminding her of that Cyclops in Brooklyn. She almost turned around then, and she plugged her ears shut in case her father's voice would come around the corner like it had years ago.

She knew that it would probably be too late for the di Angelo half-bloods. But she felt that it couldn't be a replay of that night when she was seven. It was too horrible for anybody to witness.

So she ran down the wrong path, screaming out their names at the top of her lungs, and feeling _desperately_ that she'd already lost one person to fate. She couldn't bear to lose two more.

Or three.

She stumbled outside into the cold, and looked up at the blue sky.

It was a familiar blue. The sight triggered a memory of a door, leading out of the gym and into…

Luke's eyes looked down at her from above as she ran into the forest.

She didn't see them.

* * *

It was a time where she (for once) didn't bother thinking and just acted.

Her actions gave a new meaning to leaping before looking, but she didn't regret it.

She processed it in one sweep of her eyes. The manticore charging at her friends, the Hunters standing aside with indifferent expressions… her bronze knife in her hand.

She didn't hesitate. She jumped Dr. Thorn, and felt the point of her knife dig into his mane.

The distant call to fire and the voice screaming their dissent registered dimly in her mind. She had time to look back and lock eyes with a pair of anguished pair of green, green eyes before she was falling, and the air rushing past her woke her from her trance.

Cliché, perhaps, but then again, her life was full of clichés.

Her name was yelled, somewhere above her. She recognized the voice, and her lips twisted into a wry smile.

_You're mine, demigod,_ Thorn's voice hissed into her mind, and she flinched violently away from the monster she was clutching onto. The knife–_Luke's knife_–was released from its fleshy prison, and she fell faster.

She wasn't sure when, but she soon hit something not hard, but not soft. She sensed eyes watching her, and with a force of will, she opened her own.

_Hello, Annabeth._

Luke's voice was barely a whisper, and those _blue_–yet _indifferent_–eyes stared down at her. The same blue that she'd imagined seeing once more, but instead of hope… she felt dread.

Indifference wasn't that attractive. Not one bit.

She wondered if he could see the pity that entered her expression–pity for _him_–but she wasn't given time to contemplate. Something hit the side of her head, _hard_, and she retreated into the darkness around her.

Her eyes closed to the indifference of the blue that was all around her.

_Look before you leap._

Too late for that now.

* * *

It was a time where she was excruciatingly aware of her role as an object to be used.

She woke on a dark hillside, fog crowding in all around her, with no memory of getting there. Shakily, she got to her feet, and the instant pain in her forehead almost caused her to fall again.

Her hand went up to where the pain was centered and felt it gingerly. No blood.

She looked down herself, an automatic assessment of injuries; no new wounds, but _gods,_ she looked like _shit_.

She shook her head and precariously moved a foot forward. And another, and then another. Her steps gradually got sturdier, and she increased her pace.

The path narrowed as she progressed, and after climbing over a section of broken wall, she reached what she was probably meant to reach.

Luke. The sky.

"Annabeth!" his treacherous voice called urgently, and his pain and desperation was so _real_ that she had to fight the instinct to rush to his aid immediately. She bit her tongue in an effort to not voice her fear for herself, for _him_, and the _love_ that she felt for him.

His clothes were tattered, and his face was scratched. Even knowing that she was probably wasting time, her eyes ran over his familiar features, so willing to believe that this was _her_ Luke, and he wasn't that indifferent and scary boy from before.

His hands were pressed against something above him, and she knew it to be the weight of the world. Literally.

A little voice inside her head cried out, _He's a traitor! Don't trust him!_

But the thoughts of Luke, in _pain_, filled her mind, and the thoughts chased the voice out. She rushed forward to where he lay, sweating and fending off the sky, and barely refrained from touching his face.

"What happened?" she asked, and knew already that it would be false, a lie. But she couldn't resist from wanting to believe the lie that was sure to come.

He groaned in pain, and a little piece of black rock fell to the ground. "They left me here. Please. It's killing me."

She was hurt, and it was obvious in her voice when she asked, "Why should I trust you?"

She didn't expect a true answer, so she was surprised when it came. And so she was left to face two impossible choices.

There was no hesitation in her actions when she seized the opportunity and held the sky with–_for_–Luke. For one moment, there was that bond that she had been missing, the one that had existed back when they were on the run.

And then Luke rolled away from her, leaving her to carry the weight of the world by herself, and it broke off. And she missed it fiercely, the bond that she hadn't felt with anybody else but him.

And Percy. Now _that_ was different.

She wasn't surprised when Luke betrayed her–_again_–even if it hurt like it had the first time. This time, however, she was facing both agonizing physical pain, and yet again more emotional pain.

No, she wasn't surprised. But she wished that people could make up their damn minds about love. She was tired of her love being used against her, time after time.

The ceiling of darkness above her crumbled even more, and she felt another pain: humiliation.

Luke.

Her anger kept her standing under the pressure. And it was finally being directed towards who she felt deserved it.

After years of mistakes, it felt _good_ to be right.

* * *

It was a time where she was tired.

She stayed in a dark room for the next week, shivering and staring, wide-eyed, at a spot on the wall. Luke watched her sometimes–other times, she was left alone.

She guessed that he wasn't concerned about her escaping. Either he was very confident, or very careless.

But she was in no condition to do anything, anyways. Her arms were wrapped around her body, and she felt the relentless tremors shake her body until she finally fell asleep.

It wasn't so much the shock of the world being dumped on her shoulders eventually. At first, it had been, but then it progressed to just another reaction to betrayal.

Same old, same old.

She didn't understand why Luke bothered to save her. Obviously, he didn't care for her, and she doubted any sign of concern or _affection_ he might show her now.

The reason he had given the General had made sense–but surely the Hunters would rush to the aid of the goddess even without her help. She was but small change in the way of prophecies.

Nothing made sense. Maybe she would be in this room until Percy finally got off his butt and saved her.

Somehow, it hurt to think of Percy. She gave over to her shivering, wide-eyed self.

Luke watched from a chair in the shadows of the room. She didn't see the small frown or the fierce regret on his face as he looked at her.

Later, when she was ultimately saved, she wondered if all the demigods' sacrifices had been worth it. Thalia, giving up Luke and love for eternity… the former Hunter who lived in the stars who gave up life.

She, Annabeth, had given up a former love… and that familiar pattern of life that wound up going in circles.

She wasn't sure if her sacrifices deserved the happiness that came with them.

* * *

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own, nor will I ever.

_Practically a summary of _The Titan's Curse _from Annabeth's point-of-view. Up next: Hesitations._


	5. Hesitations

_Annabeth's story._

* * *

**Hesitations**

* * *

She was sitting on a chair, avoiding the giddy company of flirtatious minor gods when she saw her mother gliding across the dance floor with a purpose.

It wasn't all that often that the goddess Athena left the main table for the dance floor, so with curiosity in mind, she rose and followed her mother to see what–or who–she was heading for.

Her eyes were distracted by a glimpse of green–a familiar green–and she whirled around, smile on her face and lips pursed to form _Percy_ when she realized it was just Poseidon.

Gods. How embarrassing.

She stopped short, and with a last look at her mother's disappearing back, she turned respectfully to Percy's father. "Oh. Lord Poseidon… Hi."

_Hi_ seemed such a weak word that she was tempted to add more, but luckily, she restrained herself. Her cheeks were turning pink, she was sure, but she could blame that on the effort of dancing.

The god was smiling, to her relief, looking _exactly like Percy_ as he did so. "Annabeth Chase. Daughter of Athena."

If it were anyone else, she would've laughed, but as it was someone with the ability to kill her…

She kept her mouth shut, and gave a noncommittal, "Mm?"

There was a pause in the fairly feeble conversation, and she thought she saw hesitation in Poseidon's eyes. At last, the god said with a finality she found very interesting, "You have my approval."

As if he had never talked to her in the first place, Lord Poseidon then turned to a rowdy group of minor gods to reprimand them and save the Ophiotaurus from becoming a live beach ball. She blinked after him, confused.

She couldn't help thinking that his approval had something to do with Percy, however.

She couldn't help thinking that both father and son having the same eyes was incredibly disconcerting–

She shook her head. There was quite enough of that. It was creepy and embarrassing enough already without her convoluted thoughts messing it up. With an effort, she stopped thinking about it and looked around for her mother.

Bright colors, punch, wine, baby blue, a bubble, grey–

She focused in on the last. Sure enough, it was her mother, with her customary grey earrings and bracelets that had caught her eye. Smiling in victory, she edged towards Athena and whoever she was facing.

Green.

She stopped her movement at once, thinking Poseidon had come back to detract his approval or something. Warily, she turned her head. There was nobody.

With hesitation, she looked back at her mother. Her victim was blocked by Athena, so she moved a little to the side and peered over the goddess's shoulder.

"Percy!" she said, proclaiming her discovery aloud in surprise. Relieved, she ran past the last of the crowd and was about to open her mouth to say something when she heard a cough of disapproval. "Oh… Mom."

Her mother made no excuse as she left, although her last cryptic remark had most likely meant something to Percy, who was standing motionless with a stunned look on his face. She waved a hand in front of his face, recalling him to his senses.

His eyes–familiar to her as she hadn't thought they would be–were startled and somehow regretful when they snapped back onto her. His full attention was unnerving, and she stepped back slightly. "Was she giving you a hard time?" she asked, only to break the awkward silence.

She wasn't even sure why she asked that question; giving him a hard time about _what_?

Sometimes she was just frustrated with herself. Her lack of knowledge paired with her hesitation annoyed her to no end. To distract herself, she reached with a hand to touch the grey streak in the boy opposite's hair.

It matched hers exactly. For a moment, she felt that same connection she had briefly with Luke, holding up the sky. A matching souvenir from holding up the sky. With the same hand, she touched her own hair, moved it back to his. The connection flickered, died.

She wondered if he had noticed the momentary link.

She wondered if he had noticed that the grey was the same color as her eyes. How strange.

She closed those same eyes, breathed out in an inaudible sigh, and dropped her hand. "So," she said, "What did you want to tell me earlier?"

Music played in the background, and her eyes closed as she picked out individual strains of music: rock, pop, hip-hop, classical, jazz… _every_ category of music was somehow playing, all it once, in harmony.

It didn't sound that bad, too, to her surprise. She smiled a little, and opened her eyes to see a vibrant green staring at her.

Thankfully, it was _at her_, because if he was staring _into her eyes_, that would be just too cliché, even for a moment like this. She thanked the gods above–or rather, sitting at a table on the other side of the room–that it was not a cliché moment and proceeded to stare back _at_ the green.

She wasn't expecting it when he asked her to dance, but accepted all the same. _Hey, why not,_ she thought. _Besides, maybe he's learned how to dance by now._

So when he took her hand, she let him, and found the connection was alive once more. She squeezed his hand a little, feeling the roughness of his palms _familiar_ to her, just like the green in his eyes.

When he led her to the dance floor, she was smiling.

* * *

She was ambling along the streets of New York, peeking into alleys and generally feeling at peace with the world, when she heard the fire alarms ringing.

Seeing as this part of New York was relatively quiet, the sound shrilly proclaimed itself with an abrupt sharpness that brought her hands to her cringing ears. Frowning, hands clapped to her head, she glanced around for the source of the sound.

Her eyes landed on a somewhat crooked school sign that read _Goode High School–Goode is good._ Sighing, she put her hands down and stuck a hand in her pocket, fumbling for her bronze knife. She should've known that there'd be trouble–that seaweed brain.

The sound of a window breaking and a tuba crashing made her wince once more, and she dug further into her pocket. Where was that knife? Surely even in its mortal form (a pocketknife) it shouldn't be _too_ hard to find.

Some screams, some voices. She thought she heard a familiar voice, but it didn't register with her until she heard running footsteps.

She looked up. Someone ran into her, and she grabbed their shoulders instinctively, knife still somewhere in her pocket. Her eyes met green, and she relaxed, laughed. "Hey, you're out early!"

And for a moment, she was in a good mood and was prepared to have a normal trip to the movies. She inspected the boy in front of her: black hair, wary and hesitating expression, and sea green eyes. They were all the same. She smiled and opened her mouth to say something when she heard more footsteps.

What now?

She looked over Percy's shoulder and stiffened automatically, grin falling at once. Some deep instinct from the beginning of the gods rose in her, and immediately, she began to size up her competition.

Red, frizzy hair, green eyes, and a face full of flour–or monster dust, she realized, as she peered closer. Thoughts of jealousy flew out at once; she dropped a hand to her belt and drew her knife. With the typical logic of a daughter of Athena, she analyzed the situation.

Fire alarms rang and smoke curled from the buildings. Somewhere quite nearby, she could hear whispers and screams, and the odd sound of bronze striking metal. She scowled with irritation at Percy, not just because of the redhead with him, but also because he had ruined their chance to hang out without the threat of a prophecy – well, an _immediate_ prophecy – over their heads. "What did you do this time? And who is this?"

And as she listened to his stammered excuses, her mind was quickly calculating the chances of surviving that day. As usual, it didn't turn out in their favor. She didn't listen (on purpose and not) to the quick conversation happening by her with the two until she heard Rachel–the name didn't fit her _at all_, she decided–throwing out names of gods and monsters with reckless abandon.

She stared furthermore when the redhead _gave Percy her number_ by _writing it on his hand_ and ran off.

She wasn't much of an expert in these matters, but she was _pretty sure_ that some rule of flirting and seducing had been broken in the last few seconds.

It was all irrelevant, mostly, because the part she was most concerned about was the fact that _Percy had told a mortal about the gods existing._ And that was pretty much the unspoken (or well-spoken – she wasn't sure anymore) golden rule of demigods: don't tell mortals.

How could he just stand there and not realize the consequences of what he had done?

(Her jealousy was but a small factor in her anger, but it still had its own place.)

She turned and walked away, keeping up a strenuous pace so he had to jog to keep up. It was a childish, immature act on her part, but it gave her some pleasure to see him following her, red-faced. She kept up her almost-running speed as he tried to explain, while she threw interrogative thoughts at him.

"You told a mortal girl about half-bloods?"

"She can see through the Mist. She saw the monsters before I did."

"So you told her the truth."

"She recognized me from Hoover Dam, so–"

"You've met her _before_?"

"Um, last winter. But seriously, I barely know her."

"She's kind of cute."

"I–I never thought about it."

They exchanged verbal blows, back and forth, she spitting anger–and a touch of jealousy–at his casual dismissal of the demigod rules, he pleading hesitation and forgiveness. And she wanted to believe him, believe his hesitations, but she couldn't bring herself to.

Maybe it was because the last time she had believed someone, it had ended with her trapped underneath the weight of the sky. She wasn't eager to try that again.

During the long taxi ride to the camp, she remained angry. But the anger running through her entire body was an unfamiliar feeling, and a frightening one at that. She almost turned to search for the sea green that was, on the contrary, an old friend to her, but she was angry, and her pride refused to let her submit to such a cliché move.

She ignored the anger for the rest of the ride, afraid to acknowledge it lest it burn her up in its heat.

* * *

She was squeezing through two boulders, hearing the hissing and slashing of scorpions behind her, when she lost her balance and fell into a pit that had _definitely_ not been there before.

She fell to the ground with a loud smack, and with a groan, brought a hand to her forehead to rub it before realizing that her fingers were wrapped around Percy's armor straps. Loosening her tight grip, she flexed them. All in working order, at least. Not that she'd expected any less.

That was when she noticed the pit around her.

Bricks on the floor, a wet and cold atmosphere… and then the darkness overcame them, the light from outside the pit being abruptly cut off. Instantly, she felt a rush of fear close up her throat.

She was underground. And hearing her breathing echo around the pit, she was terrified.

They were in the Labyrinth.

Her frightened question to Percy was unnecessary, since she had figured it out already, and that Percy didn't know anything about the Labyrinth. Her hands were clammy, shaky, and she brushed the hair out of her eyes repeatedly. The darkness of the room abated slightly as Percy held up his sword to bring some light, as did her fear, but she still shivered.

She could sense Percy's confusion, and she had a flash of the unreadable color that preyed on the edges of her consciousness. She smiled, but it fell into a frown when she felt his presence shift a little forward, towards the corridor that lay in front of them. Fear overcame her for a moment, _fear at losing him_. "Don't take another step," she said hastily. "We need to find the exit."

A hysterical note entered her voice at the end, and the anger from only hours before seemed silly to her now. Such small matters–all that fell away when faced with a real problem.

Being honest: she was scared.

Her hand slipped into his, and unsurprisingly, she was glad of the contact. Not just because she wouldn't have wanted to lose him, but also because she was glad that _he_ was here, with her, and not anybody else. It came down to the trust she had in him, and that trust was greater than any other bond she could've made with anybody else.

To think that this had all started with the sea and its color.

_Thank you for being here,_ she whispered in her mind to him, and turned back to the situation.

_Thank you._

* * *

She was climbing up the wooden ladder, questioning her decision, when she smelled the odor.

Reptiles. Her nose wrinkled in disgust, at the sharp scent, and held her breath as she made her way up through the trapdoor and looked around.

Her eyes fell on a bone-white horn, lying neatly on its side with a note written in flowing script: minotaur horn, acquired by Percy Jackson.

She half-smiled at the memory of ambrosia and hesitations (seeming so far away now), but it disappeared when the trapdoor slammed shut behind her. Ominous, really; she'd expected it, but when the voice whispered scratchily into her mind, she was still unprepared.

It was a cacophony of voices, young and old women speaking, harsh bass tones mixed in, all along with a reptilian undertone. Shivers ran through her; the sound reminded her of nails on a chalkboard. _I am the spirit of Delphi, speaker of the prophecies of Phoebus Apollo, slayer of the mighty Python. Approach, seeker, and ask._

And at the words, an unaccountable dread settled on her as she spoke. "What will happen in the Labyrinth?"

It was when the green mist around her swirled faster and came in full force that she realized what would happen.

She watched as the haze formed visible shapes and figures; a happy family that she never had, dreams that she had never realized… and that picnic that had been so tempting at the Sirens.

Her mother, her father, Luke… and a new character, as well: it was Percy.

And the false images of them spoke together, each a disconcerting shade of sea green:

_You shall delve in the darkness of the endless maze,_

_The dead, the traitor, and the lost one raise._

_You shall rise or fall by the ghost king's hand,_

_The child of Athena's final stand._

_Destroy with a hero's final breath…_

And there was a pause in the tragedy that was unfolding, and she waited with bated, dreaded breath as the mist slowly reformed from four outlines that would never be to a single, clear person.

Messy hair, a sad smile, and eyes the exact shade of green… it was Percy, clear as day.

And the image spoke: _And lose a love to worse than death._

With the last horrible line of the horrible act, the curtain closed, and the mist faded away with a last whisper meant for her ears only.

_We know you, Annabeth. Your choice is almost here, my dear._

And she tripped to the trapdoor in her haste, hisses reverberating in her mind with the horror still lingering there.

* * *

She was walking slowly along the beach, kicking sand with her feet and enjoying the cool breeze when she saw the distant lights.

It was late at night, and she was technically sneaking out after curfew, so she made as little noise as possible as she padded closer to the source of the light. Her feet left imprints on the sand, and the waves lapped at them as she peered at the blue and green lights coming from nearby.

It was the Poseidon cabin. _Figures_, she thought, smiling a little at Percy's carelessness. Probably practicing his sea powers or something.

She resumed her stroll, now ignoring the glowing green lights that reflected off the sea, and stared at the stars. So distant, so bright… she made out the outline of a fairly new constellation. Zoë Nightshade twinkled down at her from her spot in the heavens, and her smile turned sad once more. It seemed that now, she never smiled for happiness. It bothered her.

She heard a sound just then, and immediately, she tensed, looking around for the harpies to come swooping upon her. That'd be just great, getting eaten the night before her first quest as leader.

And then she realized that it came from the water. She looked at the sea and saw ripples near her. Stopping in her tracks, she waited.

A feminine voice echoed out from the water before long. "Annabeth Chase?"

She nodded silently, not willing to speak just yet.

"Lord Poseidon wishes to give you a message."

Poseidon? She gave a noncommittal sound, reminding herself of the party on Olympus. After a slight pause, the woman began, "Annabeth Chase, Lord Poseidon wishes you to know that his approval is well-founded… and to keep his son safe."

There was another pause, but this time, she broke it with an articulate, "Wait, what–?"

"That is all. Good-bye and good luck."

There was silence. This time, she hesitated in breaking it.

This time, she stepped out of the water and walked away.

* * *

_Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor will I ever.

_The first part takes place at the end of _The Titan's Curse_ (the encounter with Poseidon made up, but the rest taken indirectly from the text), and the rest are near the beginning of _The Battle of the Labyrinth.

_Thank you to a reviewer for telling me that the previously posted chapter (in place of this one) was not up to my usual standards-I have thus replaced it with this. Hopefully it fits better with the rest of the story, and is better in general - to the reviewer, you know who you are. Up next: Choices._


	6. Choices

_Annabeth's story._

* * *

**Choices**

* * *

_Just after dawn, the quest group met at Zeus's Fist._

She watched him from a fair distance away, studying him as she would've a building, finding the faults and advantages he had. With her hair tucked into a messy ponytail, pack of the essentials on her back, and weapons at the ready, she stood by Zeus's Fist, waiting for her companions in the weak morning light.

She was tensed, wary, watchful; since her last venture down into the Labyrinth, she'd attempted to convince herself that the underground tunnels really weren't that bad. After all, it had stayed alive for millennia–it wouldn't just crash down onto them.

But who really knew, right?

So she stood there watching as he stuffed the survival kit for a demigod into his pack with reckless abandon, paying absent attention to the war preparations around her that she should've been watching. She watched as a wide variety of emotions flickered across his face, irritation and content exchanging places frequently accompanied by the occasional doubt. Tyson and Grover joined her, both on different sides of her, and watched Percy as well.

"Why are we watching Percy?" Tyson asked after a moment.

"Oh, Annabeth's just ogling him from afar," Grover answered, uneasily crunching on the remains of a tin can. "Nothing new."

She ignored the satyr's teasing and continued her watch; she knew that he was just worried about their journey into the depths of the Labyrinth. She touched Grover on the arm and motioned towards a tearful Juniper standing off to the side. Luckily, he got the hint and moved off to comfort the dryad.

Well, he was worried, sure. But she knew that he was at least partially right.

Tyson eventually moved over to Percy (hopefully not to tell him about her silent watching, although she was surprised the son of Poseidon hadn't noticed yet) and she was left alone again.

She continued watching. Soon enough, however, she began to feel rather like a stalker, and she lowered her eyes to check over her pack and the supplies in it. Not that it needed it, of course, but it was just to keep her eyes busy.

She honestly had no idea why she was watching him so intently and for so long, but she wasn't given time to think it over before he himself walked over, Tyson lumbering behind.

She couldn't avoid his eyes now, but when she lifted her own once more, she frowned at the shadows below Percy's eyes. "Percy, you look terrible," she said without thinking.

Then she realized what she'd blurted out, and flushed. "Uh, I mean–"

Luckily for her, her last sentence was practically inaudible, and Tyson filled in the awkward moment with an explanation of a sort that made absolutely no sense to her. Shaking her head, she turned around to look back at her pack before things got even odder.

Behind her, she heard Percy ask Chiron uncomfortably, "Hey, uh, Chiron, can I ask you a favor while I'm gone?"

She turned right back around once more to see the black-haired, green-eyed male lead the centaur to the woods. _Out of earshot,_ her instincts whispered to her.

–_a flash of anger_–

She snorted suddenly, causing a nearby camper to jump in fright, and shoved a canteen into her bag. If Percy wanted to trust Chiron with something he couldn't trust her with, that was _fine._ Really. It wasn't as if he was her best friend or anything and she always (well, usually) told him everything and–

She caught the lie in her thought and snorted once again, loudly. She didn't need him. She'd never needed him.

She slung the pack over her shoulder and considered briefly of going into the Labyrinth without him. She moved a step towards the gaping darkness, and then took another.

But she stopped, the empty presence at her side without him there persuading her to wait. Even if she _was_ angry, it didn't mean that she should leave a friend behind.

_Besides,_ something inside her whispered, _maybe he's just doing what's best for you._

She calmed down and returned to her spot at the mouth of the cave. After all, it wasn't as if she _needed_ him–no, that wasn't why. No, it was because he was her _friend_–and if she _did_ happen to need him and his calming, green eyes, well, it didn't matter.

So she waited.

* * *

_Behind him were two exits, blocked by wooden doors with huge iron locks._

She stood alone in the middle of the room, terror slowly seeping into her veins and causing her to freeze in place, unmoving. Somewhere in the back of her head that was untouched by the mind-numbing fear, she thought it was fitting; maybe if she didn't move, she couldn't make a choice, and the god would leave without forcing her to choose.

Her friends stood behind her, obviously worried. She could hear the sounds of their confused breathing, the smell of wet goat coming from Grover and the peanut butter emanating from Tyson. But she couldn't hear anything of Percy, and that concerned her.

She knew that he wouldn't just leave them like that, run off out of fear for himself. No, Percy was better than that–and she was almost tempted to turn her head, but slightly, to catch a glimpse of the sea-green that still lurked inside her mind, but then that would give her intentions away to the two-headed god.

In front of her, Janus tapped his feet impatiently, and her eyes were drawn back to the faces. Even struggling, she couldn't manage to keep both in focus at the same time, so she retreated back into her mind and watched the two of them with blurred vision.

She wondered if this was what the prophecy was talking about: _the child of Athena's final stand._ But she denied it; surely she would have a larger role in the prophecy than but a single line. And even though it was her own pride and arrogance whispering this to her, she still strove to believe it as the god's voice snaked into her head.

"We know you, Annabeth," one of the faces whispered to her, reminding her painfully of a time back when Luke's betrayal had been a new pain, and she'd first heard Percy's voice defending her. And she almost smiled, remembering, but it died stillborn when she realized something:

_He couldn't save her from this._

She still remained frozen, wishing that time could freeze as well, just as she was. A thought that wasn't hers winded its way through her own to the forefront of her mind. _You know, Annabeth,_ the wisp said conversationally, its voice of the god before her. _If you'd only trusted Luke before, you wouldn't be in this mess. But now you can make that right_–

_Ugh,_ another strand of thought groaned, pushing its way to float beside the other. _Shut up! Don't trust him–it's _because_ of him that you and your friends and your beloved camp are in danger. Stay steady and pick me!_

_No, pick me_–

_Me!_ –

She pushed the thoughts out and took an unsteady breath. She had really no choice now _but_ to make a choice.

She examined the two doors, but they looked the same. And somehow, _somehow,_ she knew her friends saw them as blank doors, but on them, she could barely make out the faint pictures on them.

On the right, there was Luke and her reflection, laughing together, holding hands, obviously reconciled. A Greek word shone above it, and as she stared longingly at the door as it translated into _trust_. What she'd wanted for the past few years, but could never have, right there on the door… but she knew the choice couldn't be that easy. She shifted her eyes left.

A mirror image, albeit cleaner, of herself stood there, hair flying, looking deliriously happy. As she watched, another figure approached, and the two embraced, smiling. With a kiss, the two turned to look at her, and she watched as the features of the second outline became clear. Black hair and familiar sea-green eyes… It was quite obvious that it was Percy.

_Don't trust_ translated above the image, and she suddenly realized that both choices could be very possible. But somehow, looking at the left door… she could believe it, while the right seemed to be but fiction.

She inhaled deeply again and moistened her lips. She knew what she was going to choose–

–_a bright flash of light_–

Later, she glanced down at her unused finger. Her pointer finger. She hadn't had the chance to point at anything.

It was both a relief and sadness to her.

* * *

_Then he and Grover disappeared through the tunnel of tree roots and were lost in the darkness._

She followed (reluctantly) the metal spider crawling through the tunnels, eyes trained on it (reluctantly) as she blindly stepped where the spider did. She'd never imagined before that she'd be actually _chasing_ a spider through some dark and rather warm tunnel, but here she was, doing exactly that.

(She really was amazed at herself. Normally, she'd be running and screaming if there was a little metal spider anywhere _near_ her–but here she was.)

The Labyrinth had passed quickly–between facing down an unimaginative sphinx and waiting as a hostage, she'd really had no time to think over everything as she usually did. After all, while fighting monsters, if you stopped to think, you would eventually die. It was really pretty much common sense in the world of Greek mythology.

But now, as she traipsed after the creepy bug, she was able to take a breather. They were between monsters and really, all they were doing was trudging down a corridor with glowing stone walls and overly-heated air. Nothing terribly exciting.

The mental _they_ drifted back to the front of her mind and she glanced reflexively back at the sea god's son. His eyes were down, watching the uneven terrain, hiding the green from her. She sighed and turned back to the spider.

That was new, the needing to see that _green_ in an effort to stay strong. New, but not entirely unwelcome–it was nice to have something to hold onto, even if she wasn't able to figure out _why_.

"Hey, wait up," he called from behind her, and she heard his feet thudding on the ground as he moved faster to catch up with her.

–_a flash of panic_–

She sped up, refusing to lose both her composure and the spider by having him next to her or slowing down. Glancing back, she caught a glimpse of the green in his eyes and found her confidence once more, enough to let out a steady, normal, "Yeah?"

The following conversation was both awkward and amusing for her to participate in: awkward because it was about her birth and the _how_ that related to that, amusing because she could sense his embarrassment. It broke off quickly, thankfully, and she ran ahead once more in relief.

Later, she ran away from him again in a spoiled effort to defend him.

Even later, she kissed him for the first time.

He tasted of the sea, of bittersweet. It was the last sensation she had of him for two weeks.

* * *

_The familiar shoreline of Long Island appeared up ahead…_

She sat motionlessly, a still pale figure against the vibrant green backdrop of the sea. She didn't know why she came back here after weeks of refusing to–and especially after his death–

No, not death. He was probably lost somewhere, that seaweed brain. Knowing him, it was quite possible.

She heard the explosion again, felt it, and her hopes dropped again. There was no logical way that he could've survived _that_.

_Why_, in the name of the gods, had she listened when he told her to save herself, like he was doing some stupid heroic thing? She'd _known_ that he'd had no plan; and _still_ she thought that he would get out just fine.

So really, in the end, it was _all her fault._

She closed her eyes and let the breeze rush past her, fingers closing around her necklace into a fist. For a moment, she breathed in the scent of the sea and felt his lips against hers–but only for a moment.

She wouldn't be able to bear losing him like she had Luke, no, not again.

She opened her eyes and stared at where the sky met the sea. There was a line, a very faint line, that the two seemed to mesh together to form a green all too familiar to her.

–_hope_–

Maybe he could be out there, where the heavens and ocean met. Maybe.

* * *

_They were all looking forward, watching as Annabeth took a long green silk burial cloth, embroidered with a trident, and set it on the flames._

She lifted the shroud with unsteady arms, placing it on the fire and releasing the silky folds as the flames licked her fingers. Normally, the cloth itself (without its horrible placement as a body) would've been easier for her to lift–but now, she felt as if she were carrying the body itself.

Even as the silk left her hands, the weight that she imagined on herself didn't lift. How could it? It was practically her fault that he'd died, after all. The word pressed into her mind as she thought it: _died. Dead._

She turned around abruptly then, the words spinning around her head, dizzying her. In an effort to force the thoughts out of her head, the guilt, the grief, she said shakily, "He was probably the bravest friend I've ever had."

There were sympathetic faces looking at her from the meaningless sea of faces, but she didn't look at them. Instead, she avoided their gazes and flicked her own to the back of the crowd–

–_green, _sea_ green_–

–and started back in surprise, words rising to her throat and effectively choking her in the process. _That green_– with a tremendous effort, she half-whispered, half-shouted, "He's _right there!_"

She stood at the front of the amphitheater, staring with shocked eyes as the rest of the campers rushed forward in a gigantic, bubbling wave, eager to tell him their reliefs–but after a moment, she ran forward, pushing aside a few other demigods in her haste, to hug him, to kiss him, to tell him that she'd been so worried, so worried that she'd lost him like she had _Luke_–

But she stopped the words from forming on her lips. She wasn't that kind of girl. _He_ probably didn't even _know_ how much he'd made her worry–here he was, looking perfect and well-rested and the epitome of a _hero_, while _she_ made the effort to run forward with her red face and puffy eyes.

She slowed her pace and instead of doing any of those things, pushed him away with the arms that had previously been embracing him. _Dead. Here I was, thinking he was _dead. _Dead._

She listened to his story later, and held her own suspicions on where he'd supposedly been _marooned._ _Two weeks._ She _had_ almost lost him, but not to fate–to another companion. And now his suggestion–

With barely any hesitation, she left the room and ran, ignoring the surprised looks around.

Maybe his choices he was making were the right ones, but the _way_ he was conducting them certainly wasn't.

Her feet turned towards the ocean, and she increased her pace. He wanted to act so casual? Fine.

After all, he wasn't the only one with choices. He wasn't the only one with secrets.

_(He wasn't the only one who was jealous.)_

* * *

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own, nor will I ever.

_In short, half of _The Battle of the Labyrinth_._

_Hope that this chapter is up to standards. Up next: Colors._


	7. Colors

_Annabeth's story._

* * *

**Colors**

* * *

Gold.

She was caught by the color instinctively every time she looked around, and it wasn't doing much for her mood. She stood, scowling, foot tapping, arms folded, expression still irritated and bored, and watched the motionless girl with barely-concealed impatience and (maybe) a hint of curiosity.

Rachel Elizabeth Dare was gold, head to toe, skin painted in the metallic color, gold in her hair where (from what she could see) it should be a reddish-brown. She noticed that her eyes were green, a bright green that contrasted greatly with her gold-plated appearance, but not a green that interested her greatly.

Habitually, she glanced over at the boy beside her, also staring at the mortal girl in confusion, made out a glint of sea green, and looked back at gold Rachel.

It wasn't the fact that she was completely gold that interested her, however. It was how she was able to stand so motionlessly without moving or blinking for even five minutes (or however long they'd been there so far–she'd stopped counting after three), as if frozen as a statue. She frowned slightly, the corners of her lips dipping. She knew without trying that there was no way for her to do that for even five seconds, and she doubted Percy or any demigod could too. No, standing still for long periods of time wasn't her specialty, and was most likely a skill reserved specifically for mortals. Which led her back to her spoken and unspoken question: why did they need this girl?

They didn't need her. She was smart, and logical; she _was_ a child of Athena after all. She could find her way through the Labyrinth easily enough. By herself. Without Rachel Elizabeth Dare.

She replayed that thought in her mind and, after realizing that it was just a sequence of lies stemming from her hurt pride, angrily pushed it from her thoughts. Okay, so they did need her. Still, however, she saw no reason why they should be waiting around for this girl to finish her strange form of art when there was a world to be saved. Their world.

"Maybe if we push her over," she offered, quite liking the idea.

To her disappointment, the girl didn't respond in any way to her suggestion (which had the feeling of a threat), but after a few minutes, her replacement arrived, and ten minutes after, they were sitting in a moose-themed café, drinking coffee and fruit smoothies.

After some minor insults exchanged between the two of them (more like witty remarks, she felt), Rachel agreed with surprisingly little hesitance. She was surprised, but hid it behind a very true mask of polite dislike; at least this was a break from the endless repetition of having to convince someone to their side. It was… nice, she supposed grudgingly. And considering the circumstances, it _was_ nice that she'd given in so easily.

She pushed her other, more confusing feelings away, and, when both the other girl and the boy weren't looking, snuck a glance at the green in his eyes once more. The color was beautiful, she realized to her dismay as she pulled herself away again. Too beautiful. She was walking on dangerous ground with this boy, with that green (of the sea) there next to her, tempting her, distracting her when distraction wouldn't do.

She shook away these equally dangerous thoughts however, and, ignoring the uneasiness, returned to reality–_their_ reality.

Thirty minutes later, they were entering the Labyrinth once more, leaving the mortal world behind.

Funny how they always run back to the things they try to escape from.

* * *

Red. A flicker of orange, here and there.

She was sitting before the fire, poking absently at the burning scraps of wood with her knife. Luke's knife. She pulled it out of the fire and inspected the familiar handle, the sharp blade. There was nothing different to the naked eye, but since their gladiatorial fight, there was something different about the weapon.

She thought to herself, prodding a glowing stick back into their fire, feeling the warmth wash over her as the sounds of scraping reached her ears. She glanced over at the quiet red-headed mortal girl dismissively and turned back to the fire. She was drawing something on the floor, its contours blurry from her position. Probably nothing important; perhaps a flower, or something equally innocent.

After a few more moments of silence, with only the crackles of the fire to fill the air, she was unable to bear the inane theories running through her head. "Something was wrong with Luke," she said finally, staring at the fire rather than her companions. "Did you see the way he was acting?"

"He looked pretty pleased to me," Percy muttered sarcastically. "Like he'd spent a nice day torturing heroes."

She tossed a glare his way, but he didn't seem to be looking at her. His eyes were blocked from her sight by floppy black hair, reminding her of the sad state of their cleanliness. For a moment, she wished she could see just how bad she looked at the moment, but the moment passed. She resumed her glare until he looked back up at her, sea green contrasting with the fire beside them and in her mind. Ignoring the fitting symmetry of their colors, she said defensively, voice rising a little, "That's not true!"

They argued, but it soon died out as her exhausted state of mind got the better of her. She looked back at the fire, sucked in by its colors once more. Red, flickers of orange. Shaking her head, she rubbed her eyes wearily and turned to the other girl. "So which way now, Sacagawea?"

She left then, mainly to get away from his piercing gaze and the dulling effect of the fire. As she walked through the shadows, slowly returning to her regular, alert state, she realized something.

She was a child of Athena, yet she was following a girl who claimed to see a _brightness_ invisible to others. She was a child of Athena, yet she was in the Labyrinth where she was destined to die. She was a daughter of Athena, yet she was unable to save a friend and companion from the draw of the Titans.

And she realized that logic held no place down here, in the dark depths of the Labyrinth. Logic was useless; thus, she was useless. Not the greatest insight, but at least she was able to continue through the confusion from there.

She returned to their camp thoughtfully to be met by a pair of weary eyes. Percy was exhausted as well, she noticed. Her own eyes flitted to the fire, the quiet red-head, then back, and she tossed the few wood scraps she had found onto the fire. Her grey met sea-green, and she sighed.

"I'll take first watch," she said, hiding her fatigue. "You should sleep, too."

* * *

The summer passed quickly.

What with the events that had happened in the Labyrinth and the battle outside of it, she was glad to have made it out of the summer alive. Sure, she had a few more scratches than before, but it wasn't anything compared to the masses of dead campers that had become apparent at the battle's end. She had stood in the crowd, funeral pyres alit, the amphitheater silent around her, her hand squeezing Percy's for the knowledge that _he_ was alive, at least.

She'd met Daedalus that summer, her idol from a younger age and had received designs beyond her imagination. She'd found Pan, who had been so broken a god that she vowed to dedicate some portion of her meal every day to the faded spirit. She'd travelled with the fabled ghost king (who, surprisingly, was just Nico), and had fought monsters from the darkest myths. She'd witnessed the Labyrinth collapse, causing large-scale earthquakes all over the world, and had offended the queen of the gods (who, admittedly, was slightly snobbish). It was an eventful summer.

She stood on the hilltop after Hera's angry departure, looking over the alert camp, in turn alert to the presence of the boy beside her. He had an odd expression on his face, but as he didn't say anything, she didn't either.

She knew why he was so quiet now, and she knew why she was as well. After a summer of anger and hurt and worry, she was content to avoid the boy, feeling the strange pain when they were together and when they weren't.

She looked at him, a quick sweeping glance. Green eyes and all, everything that he did somehow reminded her of someone else. If she didn't concentrate on reality, she could almost envision the green changing to blue, the black hair metamorphosing to gold. These moments made her happy for short times, but every time, she would have to shake it off and continue with her business, hiding the angry stew of emotions bubbling within her chest and hurting worse than before. She looked at him, but when he turned to her, she averted her eyes.

And she was afraid, too. _And lose a love to worse than death._ The words haunted her sleep, until she grew accustomed to studying Daedalus's laptop of inventions until she fell asleep, exhausted. Dark circles were constantly underneath her eyes, and her visits to the sea slowly died off _(it hurt too much)_.

She returned to the present and found Percy staring at her thoughtfully, regretfully.

She didn't want to speak to him. She couldn't speak to him. "I'm sorry," she said to him quietly. "I-I should get back. I'll keep in touch."

"Listen, Annabeth–" he began, then stopped. She stopped too, and looked at him.

But he didn't say anything, and the strange, soft look in his eyes died. A horn honked in the distance, and she took the chance. "You'd better get going," she said. "Take care, Seaweed Brain."

She fled down the hill, the dull pain in her side easing as she gained more distance from him. She should've been relieved with the avoidance of what he was going to say _(what was he going to say?)_, but all she felt was sadness.

And she still hurt.

* * *

He came back the next summer.

She ran to the pavilion, only second behind Chiron, who had the advantage of four legs and the body of a horse. Only vaguely realizing that she was wearing two-day clothes and her hair was probably the equivalent of a nest, she went right up to him and grabbed his arm for the reassurance that he was alive. "What happened? Is Luke–"

"The ship blew up," he said, but without any sort of triumph in his voice. She looked at him, frowning in bemusement, and realized something (or someone) was missing. "He wasn't destroyed. I don't know where–"

And then Silena arrived, and the missing thing was known to her. She stepped a little away from Percy, towards Silena, but couldn't bring herself to go too far from him. It was as if there was a string attaching the two of them; it had been too long, and he was standing so close. He was the same height as she was this summer, maybe even a little taller, and there was loss in his eyes. Sea green eyes. He was still young, but marks etched in his face (emotional, not physical) made him seem more mature than before.

She analyzed the differences and realized that she'd missed him.

"I'm glad you're not dead, Seaweed Brain," she said truthfully, wiping away a tear on her cheek that had traitorously appeared.

Over the next few days, she had too many opportunities with him to remember and tempt fate.

It seemed almost cruel that Beckendorf's death only served to remind her of past shared moments with Percy, major happenings in camp ineffective in turning her mind towards important matters. She found her eyes meeting his too often, remembering shared kisses in times of fear, fearing his death in his defiance and anger when she'd been aware of the prophecy since their meeting, looking at him when she should've been paying attention to something else. It was a light that shone on him, giving her new perspective and an odd, soft feeling in her stomach when she saw him.

She was inspecting cabins, he walking beside her, struggling with a stack of reports, muttering to himself with a little frustrated frown. She looked at him sometimes, fluttery feelings in her mind as she walked into cabin after cabin, nervous for an inexplicable reason.

They were alone in her cabin at one point in the inspection, where those fluttery feelings burst into full color in her mind.

"You know…" she said, staring a little off to the right of her, brushing her hair back as she spoke, nervous. "This whole thing with Beckendorf and Silena. It kind of makes you think. About… what's important. About losing people who are important."

He didn't say much, an odd expression that she remembered from the last summer on his face. And she was a little disappointed, and angry. He was a coward, but it wasn't–_shouldn't_ be–important. What mattered, what was _happening_ was the war, and the future of the gods.

So, she put all thoughts away, and got to work.

* * *

It's an eventful war.

The events pass quickly, too quickly for reflection–but after the happenings, she has a little more opportunity to simply sit on the ground and stare up at the heavens, thinking.

Her mind, as usual, is dominated by architectural plans and the futures of herself and those closest to her, but lately they are overshadowed by thoughts of death, and the horrible pastimes of the Fates.

She sees Luke's blank blue eyes everywhere–in the sky, in the waters, in her mind, reminding her of the memories they'd shared together, the love she'd held briefly for a time and had lost. She thinks of Thalia's grief _(for she knows now that it was always Thalia-and-Luke and never anything else)_, and May Castellan's, and Hermes's. _The hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap._ What a horrible death–one necessary to make things right in the world, but never one she would've wished on anybody. Poor, poor Luke. She closes her mind and sees all of the bodies, lost in the horror of war–sees Luke's again. Not uplifting.

But she puts it aside. There's no happy ending for her that she can see at this moment, but whatever the events of the years have taught her, it's that she has to appreciate what she does have. She sighs and rises to her feet. With a final farewell to the blue familiar sky, she turns her eyes away and walks away.

They talk a little later, the regular exchange of witty banter as they size up each other–but this time, the way Percy looks at her is different, and the way she's feeling is a little different too.

"Then up on Olympus," he says to her, and her ears are ringing from the odd lightness in her mind, "when they wanted to make me a god and stuff, I kept thinking–"

"Oh, you _so_ wanted to."

He smiles, laughs a little, and she notices the nervousness in the laugh, unrecognized before this moment. "Well, maybe a little," he concedes, looking away. "But I didn't, because I thought–I didn't want things to stay the same for eternity, because things could always get better. And I was thinking…"

He doesn't finish his sentence, because she knows what he's about to say, and doesn't bother with the finer details. So she laughs a little, smiles a little nervously–because she's nervous too, brushing her hair back and trying to absorb the green in his eyes, satisfy that beginning factor that had brought them together in the first place.

And she kisses the boy, partly because she wants to see what it's like, untainted by fear and hopelessness, but mostly because she wants to. There's sadness on their lips, and salty bitterness _(or maybe that's just the sea)_–but in that kiss, there's something warm and encouraging, something hopeful. And she's hopeful, too, that maybe together, they can create more memories, ones that will make her feel better about the sad but irreplaceable ones.

And, as their eavesdropping, catcalling friends swarm the pavilion and throw them–_together_–into the water, she sees something that looks like hope and happiness in the colors around her, in Luke's blue and her grey, and his green–

Sea green.

* * *

_(He tells her years later of his quest to find a color, a stormy grey that had haunted his mind for the past years, and she tells him of her own quest to find that sea green, and they're happy._

_They don't live happily ever after because she believes that the concept only exists in fairytales._

_But they live pretty close to it.)_

* * *

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own, nor will I ever.

_Wow. As weird as this may sound, I cannot believe that this (my first, pretty much, multi-chaptered story) is over._

_I wrote all of this in one sitting, which although may not be much, just goes to show what the release of new content can do for you._

_Thank you to all of my readers (if any of you are still out there), and although I'm very very sorry for the wait... here it is. Couldn't have done it without you all. This is the last chapter, there will be no continuations into the Heroes of Olympus series, although I love the books very much so far._

_This chapter consists of half of _The Battle of the Labyrinth_ and the entirety of _The Last Olympian_, albeit shortened by far and summarized._

_Take care, everybody, and thank you so so much for reading. :)_


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